


Free Falling

by xDariix



Category: Warcraft (2016), Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, LionTrust, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Slow Build, UST, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-15
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 13:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8286755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xDariix/pseuds/xDariix
Summary: 'Wings. Over twenty feet of white wings. So pure and untainted, that it almost glows.'Khadgar is an Atavian, an extinct avian race in Azeroth, known to have disappeared almost a century ago. He escapes from the greedy clutches of the Kirin Tor, to find freedom...only to discover that freedom isn't really as free as they made it look in the books.Tossed in the real world, Khadgar has to learn to deal with scary orcs, temperamental Commanders, creepy Guardians, and...oh, Dark Magic. All the while trying to evade the Kirin Tor and trying (and failing) to keep his wings a secret.A LionTrust fic





	1. Breathe deep and easy

**Author's Note:**

> Hoi goiys. I'm new to this fandom and this is my first LionTrust fanfic. I was just looking through fics and I realized that LionTrust doesn't have a Wingfic (what?!). And then, this plot just popped into my head.  
> I'm not much into the game, so my lore is going to be all weird. Also, I did just kinda invented a race, so...  
> Anyway, have a read and tell me what you think. Please be nice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's chapter 1. I hope you all enjoy!!!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Atavian.

A magical species known to have the gift of flight. Retractable wings protrude from their shoulder blades, each roughly six to fifteen feet in size on an adult. The colors range from brown to black to white.

A century ago, already an endangered and recluse race, the Atavian mysteriously disappeared from Azeroth. Years’ worth of intensive research revealed that they had been slaughtered for the unique magical properties in their wings, though the bodies that were discovered, were marginally fewer than the existing Atavian.

They could still be alive. They could still be out there. Waiting…

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_“Please don’t take away my wings again…”_

_“Then don’t give us a reason to…”_

Khadgar weighs the coin bag in his palm. It’s a considerable amount. Enough to get him away from…them. To Stormwind. Where he can begin a new life. Far away from the clutches of the Kirin Tor.

He glances at the inn in front of him. Then at the path to Stormwind. The setting sun colors the dirt path in an exotic orange, and that is enough for Khadgar to make a decision.

The next inn is too far to be traveling this late. He’ll stay the night here, then leave at dawn.

_Dinner, rest, then off to Goldshire._

With that plan in mind, Khadgar enters the inn.

Twenty minutes later, finds Khadgar entering his rented room and closing the door securely behind him. He locks it and closes the curtains, then mutters a few foreign words to muffle sound, just to sate his paranoia. His eyes glow, telling him the spell is successful.

He stands there in silence for several minutes, until the itch on his back becomes unbearable.

Then slowly, he removes his cloak, followed by his tunic. His eyes briefly flicker on the mark of the Kirin Tor on the inside of his forearm. Even now, after all these years, the memory of the mark being burned onto his skin is fresh. Khadgar shuts his eyes and forces himself to look away.

 _Now is not the time to linger on the past_ , he tells himself firmly. Then he murmurs some more words and a semi-solid mirror materializes itself before him. It’s large and circular, and hovers a few feet off the ground.

 _Here we go_. Khadgar mentally braces himself, before whispering another set of words.

His eyes glow and a tingling feeling carries down his spine as the bandage on his back starts undoing itself. The pain is considerably less, compared to last time, but it’s still pain. So Khadgar grits his teeth and waits for the bandage to come off completely.

There is almost no blood this time. Some good news, at least.

When the last of it falls off, Khadgar cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of his back in the mirror. He is pleased to discover that he is healing nicely. Most of the area is a raw pink, but some have completely healed over. The worst of it is on his left shoulder blade, where the unprotected skin still glistens with lingering blood.

With careful fingers, Khadgar reaches back and gently touches his left shoulder blade. He hisses and withdraws his hand.

It’s more sensitive than painful.

Perhaps he should wait one more day? Until he gets to Goldshire. Then he can set free his–

No. He’s waited too long.

His back itches in anticipation. More specifically, the edges of his shoulder blades itch in anticipation. The whole area is still tender, but Khadgar doesn’t care. It has to be now. Any later, and he might explode.

So without thinking of it any further, Khadgar closes his eyes and lets it happen. It starts with a tingling feeling in his chest, moving further out, along his ribcage, following his ribs back, until it reaches his shoulder blades. As it spreads, his skin gently parts to reveal the sharp edges of his shoulder blades. Then, the white of the bone starts to grow rapidly, feathers sprouting as it spreads. It grows and grows, until each new limb is roughly twelve feet in size. And then, it stops. The whole process is barely five seconds long.

Khadgar opens his eyes and looks at himself in the summoned mirror.

Wings. Over twenty feet of white wings. So pure and untainted, that it almost glows. The cruel hands of the Kirin Tor had done nothing to damage the delicate feathers. It was part of the magic an Atavian contained. Only with consent was one allowed access to the magical properties of their wings.

And for that, Khadgar had been made to suffer for over ten years. The bruises around his neck and the slowly healing wounds on his back are proof of that.

_“It would be so much easier if you would just cooperate.”_

_“I-I don’t know what I’m doing wrong…”_

With a shake of his head, Khadgar pulls his mind away from his days with the Kirin Tor.

His eyes find his own in the mirror and he is surprised to find tears glistening in the corner of his eyes. He quickly wipes them away and inhales deeply, stubbornly ignoring the tightness in his throat. Then he turns his gaze to his wings. They quiver in anticipation as he gently spreads the poor cramped limbs, giving them a much needed stretch. At full width, the span would be almost thirty feet. Too large for this room.

With a full stretch almost impossible, Khadgar itches to be outside. Where he can feel the cool night air combing through his wings, feel the wind slap against his face, as he flies where no eye can touch.

Oh, how he missed flying, watching Azeroth from a whole new angle.

But, no. He couldn’t risk being seen.

Word would no doubt get to the Kirin Tor. And they’d be here in an instant, dragging him back to the floating castle, where he would once again be at their mercy.

With that thought, Khadgar’s paranoia returns and he retracts his wings back into his body. They fold back in with ease, only causing him to jump when the tips of the feathers brush against the raw skin. He waits for the skin at his shoulder blades to painlessly stitch back together, so he can murmur another spell to wrap new bandages on his back. Then he deactivates the spell holding up the mirror, puts his tunic back on and falls face first onto the bed…

…only to be woken up two hours later.

At first, he isn’t sure what roused him from his slumber. But then he feels it again, like a wave washing over him, then disappearing just as quickly.

Dark Magic.

Lots of it.

The third wave has him feeling nauseous and he jerks upright in his bed.

The fourth wave has him grabbing his belongings and exiting the room.

By the time the tenth wave rolls around, he’s already on the path to Stormwind.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!!! Well? How was it?


	2. Swallow this pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my God, this is the warmest welcome to a fandom I've ever received!! Thanks for all the lovely comments guys! I didn't expect it so soon!  
> Today, I bring you Chapter 2! Enjoy!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Hello, beautiful.” Lothar says, as the stablehand leads a gryphon, _his_ gryphon, out of the stables. He pats the top of her head as she nudges her beak against his chest in greeting. Unknowing of her strength, she causes him to stumble back a few steps with a startled laugh. “Yeah, I missed you too, Ceres.” he murmurs fondly.

He takes the rein as it’s handed to him and nods his thanks to the stablehand. He leads Ceres away from the stables, to an appropriate place to take flight for Goldshire to join his king. The gryphon is full of energy, almost hopping along beside him on her great talons, eager for a flight.

Creatures with wings are never meant to be grounded.

He leads her to a clearing a fair bit away, and is just mounting the gryphon, when a guard’s shout of ‘Commander!’ has him pausing mid-mount. He slides off and turns to see Brandon, one of the guards appointed to take the kid mage to Goldshire. He’s running towards him, armor clunking loudly as he approaches.

“If that spell-chucker is telling the truth,” he says to the guard, “I don’t believe we have much time to spare. What is it, Brandon?”

Brandon stops in front of him and leans down, putting his hands on his knees, taking a moment to catch his breath. Lothar waits patiently.

“Sir, he’s refusing to wear the arcane bindings.” the guard says after a minute, expression troubled behind his helmet.

Lothar crosses his arms across his chest. Brandon shrinks back a little. “He’s refusing, is he?” he asks, voice deadly, as it usually gets when someone can’t follow orders as given. He moves closer to the guard. “Tell me, Brandon, who’s in command? You, or the kid?”

“Me, sir.”

“Mm-hmm.” And with that, Lothar makes to mount Ceres again.

“We did put it on, sir.” Brandon tells him, stopping him short. “But then, the boy started panicking. He pulled at them… _really_ hard, sir. He was uncaring of the damage he was doing to himself, he just wanted it off. So we, uh, took it off.”

“Right.”

“Sir, I noticed that he already had some bruises around his neck, prior to wearing the arcane bindings.”

Lothar had noticed it too, when he had pinned the kid to the desk about an hour ago. Back then, he had just been angry that a possible necrophiliac has snuck into the barracks. Now that he thinks about it though, he realizes that he should have paid more attention.

“Perhaps he’s had a bad experience with it?” Brandon suggests.

“Perhaps.” Lothar says. Then he sighs in defeat and turns to the gryphon. “Wait for me.” he murmurs to her, stroking her coarse feathers.

A cluck of disapproval is his only response, before she lowers herself onto the ground, basking in the summer sun.

Lothar turns back to Brandon. “Let’s go.” He says.

The two head back to the barracks, to the room where the mage is being held.

“Please…” the kid is saying when Lothar enters the room. “I-I don’t want to wear it…”

He’s sitting on the steps by the training hall, curled into a ball, knees brought up to his chest with arms wrapped around himself. His gaze is locked on the arcane binding necklace in another guard’s hand.

He looks like a scared child.

“It’s only until we get to Goldshire.” The guard says, voice kind, “That’s only a few hours away.”

The kid shakes his head a few times, “No, no please, I promise I won’t do anything stupid.” His voice is shaky and unshed tears are gathered in the corner of his eyes.

“Is that what you said to the last people who had you in chains?” Lothar demands as he approaches. He holds his hand out and the necklace is handed to him.

Scared brown eyes focus on his hand, before traveling up to meet his gaze. “What?”

Lothar nods at the old bruises on the kid’s neck, which are now joined by fresh looking, angry red marks. “Who are you running from, spell-chucker?”

There is a split-second of horror on the kid’s features before he gathers himself with a sharp inhale, and says, “N-no one…sir…”

Lothar hums disinterestedly. He closes in on the kid and lowers himself on the steps beside him, leaning in closer when the kid leans back. “So why are you so afraid of a little piece of jewelry? Hmm?”

“It-it renders me powerless.”

“That’s the point.”

“But I-I won’t do anything bad, sir.”

Lothar leans back, putting his elbow on the back step, spinning the arcane binding necklace carelessly on one finger. “And what proof do you offer for that?”

The kid tries to edge away from it, hand automatically going to his unprotected neck. He doesn’t reply. But the fear in his face is evident. He’s biting his lower lip, looking at him with enough fear that he might as well have been the one to put it around his neck.

Well, he did order it. Since the kid, you know, tried to use a spell on him.

But that was after he had pinned him to the desk.

So technically, Lothar was in the wrong. And as far as he’s concerned, other than sneaking into the barracks, the kid has done no wrong. Helped him, even.

“Well?”

At Lothar’s impatience, the kid seems to mull something over. Then, with a soft, barely audible sigh, he reaches into his inner cloak pocket and pulls out something. He holds it out for Lothar to take.

“A quill.” Lothar says in a deadpan, looking at the offending item. It’s a soft beige in color, and it’s long, very long; about the size of his arm. Perhaps from a gryphon…or not, it’s far too soft and delicate looking to belong to those creatures. From its’ inner wings, maybe…

“It’s all I have.” The kid replies. He hesitates, avoiding eye contact, before adding in a quiet voice, “I was…I was found with it. When I was little…”

It’s a touchy subject, Lothar can tell. And it must mean a lot to the kid. So with a long exhale, Lothar tosses the necklace over to a guard, who catches it, and takes the quill from the kid’s fingers.

“I’m holding on to this until you get to Goldshire.”

The kid nods.

“You try anything and I’m snapping it in half.” Lothar threatens. He makes a motion to break the quill, and it has the kid flinching and almost lunging for it. That’s enough proof he needs to know that it really is important to him. Lothar smirks and pulls himself off the steps. “See you in Goldshire, kid.” He says, and sees himself out of the barracks, trying to get the picture of innocent doe eyes out of his head.

He always did have a weakness for pretty faces.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Likey, or nah?


	3. Stare at my shaking hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments guys! I feel so happy when I read them. Also, I don't know how to reply to comments without clogging up the comment area, so sorry for not responding.  
> Anyway, here it is. Chapter three. This one is more of a little filler with a whole lot of cutesy stuff happening. Enjoy some happy stuff before the angst comes knocking!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_“A feather. Is there another Atavian here?”_

_“No, my boy. You were found with this.”_

_“What?”_

_“Its magic has worn off, but I thought you’d like to have it. As a keepsake of your past.”_

“Aaahhh! How much longer?!”

The guard in charge of taking Khadgar to Goldshire looks like he’s about to cry. Khadgar almost feels bad. Almost.

“I told you twenty times already.” The guard replies, voice a forced calm, “We’re almost there.”

“You’ve been saying that for the last twenty minutes.” Khadgar replies, not even caring that he’s coming off as a whining child, “I’m bored. I thought rides were supposed to be more fun than this.”

“Fun.” The guard snorts, “I don’t know what you were expecting.”

Khadgar shrugs. “I was expecting _more_.” He says.

“More.”

“Yes, like epic fights against bandits, hunting for food in the wild, sharing epic war stories by the campfire. Instead, all we get is a stupid murloc. And it didn’t even look as scary as they described it in the books.”

“Books.” The guard repeats in a deadpan voice.

“Yes, books. I do hope you’re keeping up.”

The guard looks up to the sky, as if pleading the deities to take him from this world. “A bookworm.” Khadgar hears him whisper. “A bookworm is getting audience with the king.”

Khadgar is offended. “And what’s wrong with that?” he demands.

The guard wisely decides to change the subject. “Did you know, that the road between the citadel and Goldshire is one of the safest roads in the Eastern Kingdoms?” He tells Khadgar, “That’s why there’s no bandits. Constant patrol scares them off.”

Khadgar glares at him and his obvious attempt to avoid being told off.

“It’s also only a few hours’ journey.” The guard adds, “That’s why there’s no time for epic war stories by the campfire.”

“But it’s so dark already.” Khadgar argues, “Why don’t we camp now? I’m very tired.”

The guard looks affronted. “You’re insane, mage.” He says, “No one camps on this road. No one.”

“But-”

“ _No one_.”

Khadgar blinks at him a few times. Then he understands. “Ohhhh, is it a warrior thing?” he asks, “Like a rite of passage? ‘Thou shalt not lay camp on safe roads, lest they wish to be the embodiment of cowardice.’ Is that it?”

There is a long silence. Then the guard, cheeks pink from embarrassment, quietly says, “Yes.”

Khadgar breaks down into laughter. His horse whinnies confusedly at him. “Honestly, you’re like children.” He giggles.

“Shut up, mage.” The guard mumbles angrily.

“Khadgar.” Khadgar tells him.

“What?”

“My name, it’s Khadgar.”

“Oh.” The guard says. Then smiles behind his helmet. “I’m Callan.”

There’s a small silence that follows and Callan seems to be basking in it.

So naturally, Khadgar takes pleasure in breaking it. “By the Light, how much longer?!” he cries and he can see Callan’s jaw twitch as he grits his teeth. He grins.

But then a loud screech has him nearly falling off his horse. Unbidden panic and dread settle in his chest.

“What was that?” he asks, voice much shakier that he’d like to admit.

“We’re here.” Callan says, cool as a cucumber, even as the screech comes again.

A few more minutes later, Khadgar sees the source of the sound.

Large tawny wings, a sharp hooked beak, watchful golden eyes…

“A gryphon!” Khadgar gasps.

And right ahead, finally, _finally_ , Goldshire.

“This way.” Callan says, riding ahead, somehow already predicting Khadgar would get distracted.

“It’s tamed!” Khadgar realizes with a sense of horror. They must have had to break it. Unless it was raised in Stormwind as a hatchling.

The gryphon screeches at him in greeting (warning?). Then ducks its’ head under a large wing to preen itself.

“It’s tamed.” Khadgar whispers.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lothar finds Callan leaning over a map on a table with a few other guards, nursing a tankard of mead. He looks tired, hair falling in all directions as he speaks, “That’s another garrison gone. I’m thinking we request a scout party, get them to scope the area out. See what we’re actually dealing with. I’m sure the Commander will agree if we–”

“You can call him ‘dad’, you know.” Lothar cuts in, joining them at the table, “It’s not taboo.”

He gets multiple greetings of, ‘Commander’ and only nods back in acknowledgement.

Callan says, “Perfect timing. Dad, we were thinking–”

Lothar silences him with a finger. “Not now.” he says. He gulps down the rest of his mead before putting an arm around his son and saying, “Come,” and leads him away to an empty table. He motions to a barmaid for another drink.

Callan doesn’t hesitate in plopping himself onto a chair. He puts his elbows on the table and lowers his head into his hands, massaging his temples.

Lothar leans against the table, half sitting on it, and ruffles his son’s already unruly hair. “You’re looking tired, son.” he says, “Don’t tell me the ride to Goldshire’s worn you out already. However will you fare in truly testing times?”

“What? No, it’s not the path.” Callan says with a tired sigh, “It’s the mage.”

“The mage.”

“Yes. Dad, he’s so annoying!” he all but exclaims.

“The mage.” Lothar repeats.

“Yes. He kept wandering off the path to collect _flowers_ , of all things.”

“Oh, no.”

“He never stopped talking, even when I stopped listening.”

“Wow.”

“And when I told him to shut up, he whipped out a book and started reading it, _on the horse_.”

“By the Light.”

“Then he gave me the silent treatment for a whole hour, until I apologized to him.”

“Whatever will you do?”

“Will you stop that, dad?” Callan snaps, glaring at him with no real heat, “You think you’re being funny, but you’re really not.”

Lothar snorts. “Kid sounds terrible.” he comments unsympathetically. A tankard of mead is placed in front of him and he doesn’t hesitate in taking a sip.

“Yeah, laugh it up, dad.” Callan says, “Just wait until you have to deal with him. He’s annoying, but he’s a master at guilt trips. He’ll have you feeling bad for something you didn’t even do.” He takes a sip of his own mead and leans in closer to add in a dramatically exaggerated whisper, “And worst of all, I don’t think he even knows he’s doing it.”

“Remind you of someone?” Lothar asks, nodding to where his sister, Taria is sat, talking in hushed tones with Llane.

The two share a much needed laugh, and Lother feels the tension draining away from his body, if only for a while.

In the peaceful silence that follows between them, Lothar’s eyes scan the inn, something that he subconsciously does, honed warrior instincts unknowingly scouring the area for potential threats. Instead, his eyes fall on the mage.

He’s reading a book (of course he is), taking in the pages with childlike curiosity, and Lothar has to suppress a fond smile from crossing his lips.

He watches as a mug is placed in front of the kid, who absentmindedly reaches for it and takes a sip. Then his eyes grow wide as he spits it out, breaking into a fit of coughs.

“What in Light’s name is this?” he asks, voice high and distressed.

“Mead.” The barmaid calls back, already far away, serving another client.

The kid blinks down curiously at the drink in his hands, then tentatively takes the smallest of sips. He instantly makes a face, puts the tankard aside and resumes reading.

Lothar just sighs.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the overuse on dialogue. I'll try to edit in later and let you know in the next chapter when I do.  
> Also did the second scene feel a little hastened? I wasn't sure if I should add it in or not. But I really wanted some father-son bonding to happen and I decided to pop it in. I really feel like Lothar is kind of a trolldad and makes annoying dad jokes (Hello Hungry, I'm Lothar!).  
> Anyway, I'll try to keep the updates to once or twice a week. I'm slow at getting stuff done because I'm a Professional Crastinator. Also, exams.  
> See you soon guys!


	4. Through bone-dry, bloodshot eyes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what I find so annoying? Those squiggly blue lines on MS Word. I'm happily typing away on a fanfic and then all of a sudden, a blue squiggly line appears. I correct it, then move on, and as soon as I start typing, IT RETURNS!!! It's like ??? I KNOW THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN ITS AND IT'S (I hope I do).  
> Anyway, here's chapter 4. Sorry for posting it so late. I might be a little slower on updates since I've got exams in a few weeks. I still owe my Loki x Reader fanfic the last few chapters, which, fml, since I haven't worked on that in MONTHS.  
> BUT holidays are a-coming and I'm gonna be a-posting!  
> ENJOY

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_“I flew! Did you see that?! I flew!”_

_“Yes, yes you did, my boy. You were magnificent.”_

_“I was? Did I look like the pictures in the books?!”_

_“Marvelously so. Now, I suggest you sheathe your wings before they find us out.”_

When the Commander tells Khadgar to join him on the gryphon, he wants to decline. He would not degrade a fellow avian creature like that. But there is no room for argument. Not when he can’t explain away his refusal.

The gryphon seems to sense his wings, even when they’re retracted. It growls at Khadgar as he approaches, recognizing him from his arrival at Goldshire some hours prior. But it lets him mount up behind the Commander.

It must have understood his urgency to keep his wings hidden.

As they take to the air, Khadgar notes with a small sense of pride that his wings are about the same span as this gryphon’s, if a little smaller.

It’s strange, flying with wings that aren’t his. Even stranger to not be in control of the steering.

The ride is rougher than he’s used to. But the wind is the same. It catches his hair the same way it would if he was flying on his own. The deafening ‘ _woosh_ ’ against his ear, despite the harshness, is soothing to his ears. And the constant beating of wings, although different to his lightweight ones, is enough of a lullaby to make him feel at home.

He releases his grip on the Commander’s tunic, and leans back until his back touches the saddle. Then, ignoring the Commander’s startled shouts (that are lost in the wind anyway), he closes his eyes and lets serenity wash over him.

Despite his mana already being reasonably full, he feels his sheathed wings charging up with yet more magic, sending it through his veins to his heart to pump all over his body.

Only flight can make Khadgar feel like this.

Content. Peaceful. Complete.

It’s several hours later, but all too soon for Khadgar, when they near the tower of Karazhan.

When they land, Khadgar is hesitant to say goodbye to the gryphon, but he does so with a gentle pat and a soft coo. The gryphon squawks back fondly, and nuzzles its’ head gently with his.

“You’re a girl!” Khadgar suddenly realizes, not knowing how he knew. Avian instincts, he guesses. “Oh, you’re beautiful!”

The Commander shoots him a confused look as he goes to greet Moroes.

Khadgar shrugs back and with regret, parts from the gryphon and follows him inside.

His sadness is quickly replaced with wonder and excitement as he sees the books. Shelves upon shelves of books. The Commander can threaten him with death, for all he cares. No one can tell Khadgar to keep his hands off of knowledge.

Barely ten seconds after being told to ‘ _try not to touch anything_ ’, Khadgar is grabbing the first book his hands come into contact with.

 _‘Try’_ _being the key word_ , he thinks, not even feeling the slightest bit of guilt for disobeying orders of the Commander.

It’s almost an hour worth of reading, mark glowing and mysterious book stealing, when Khadgar finds himself face to face with a man in crimson robes. Who, coincidentally, also turns out to be the Guardian. And in the next second, he’s faceplanting a bookshelf.

_Ow._

Being off the ground has his wings twitching in restlessness, but Khadgar stomps down the instinct to let them out.

No. Not here. Not in front of a man who could send him back to Dalaran with only a few words.

So Khadgar lets the Guardian accuse him, then toss him around a little ( _ow_!), while trying to tell him about his renouncing of vows, and his hesitance to go to Karazhan, and the spreading of Fel.

The last one does it.

The Guardian ends his spell and with it, gravity returns. This time, keeping his wings in, is much harder, painfully so. He’s pretty sure they slipped out for a split second, but not enough to spread past his shoulders. And if it did, the Commander’s wince and the Guardian’s lack of attention is enough for Khadgar to assume that they didn’t see it.

But then, the Guardian pauses and his eyes are locked somewhere behind his shoulder and Khadgar’s heart skips a beat.

No. _Please no_.

The Guardian approaches him, asking about the Fel, and Khadgar struggles to sit up, as he explains about what he saw in the barracks of Stormwind. Then the Guardian moves closer, mouth opening to say something else, but the Commander joins the conversation with, “Medivh, what is the Fel?”

And that prompts a speech about the dangers of said Dark Magic, and Khadgar finds it unnerving that the Guardian’s green eyes never leave his brown ones. But then he turns to the Commander and says, all calm and collected, “We’ll go.” And that’s the end of that.

…

But it’s not.

As Khadgar watches the Commander say goodbye to the gryphon, while secretly wishing he could go for another ride, a hand crawls up his back and rests right between his shoulder blades.

Khadgar stiffens and tries not to jump away.

“What color are they?”

“I-I don’t know what you mean…sir…” he all but whispers back, fear lighting up every nerve in his body. Lying has never been his specialty and it sure as hell isn’t now.

The hand moves to his left shoulder blade, where the worst of the wound is, and _presses down_.

Khadgar purses his lips together and inhales sharply, forcing himself to choke down a whimper.

“Do not lie to me, boy.” The Guardian says, voice calm with a sharp presence of _murder_ , and oh God, why does it take so long to say goodbye to a gryphon? “I’ll ask again. What color are your wings?”

“Wh-white…”

The hand eases, then travels up to cup the back of his neck, tilting his head to look up at the Guardian. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” he asks softly, voice suddenly very kind and sympathetic.

It’s scary. No one should be allowed to go from threatening to kind like that.

Khadgar quickly shakes his head and the Guardian relents his hold on him, just as the Commander turns around to join them. His saving grace. A little too late though.

“What?” he asks, upon noticing the look of poorly contained fear on Khadgar’s face.

“N-nothing.” Khadgar replies too quickly, putting his arms around himself. A worldwide gesture of withdrawal.

The Commander narrows his eyes at him, not at all convinced. He opens his mouth to question him, but the glow of the Guardian’s magic distracts him from doing so. The activation of a teleportation spell. The Commander decides to let it be for now and steps into the rune circle, looking less than pleased.

Khadgar hesitates, unsure of whether or not he should join the two men in the circle.

His last experience with teleportation wasn’t quite successful. Though, it was done hastily, so…

But the Guardian’s, “Step in,” has him meekly obeying orders.

And in the next second, only Moroes is left standing alone, usual bored expression in place.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Medivh's a bit creepy in this. TBH, he's one of my fave characters in the movie (and I ship RavenTrust). I also recently discovered that the actor plays a dude in X-Men who ALSO has wings and I was like !!!!!!! what a coincidence!!!  
> I hope you guys liked this chapter. Stay tuned for the next chappie!!!


	5. Clock strip the hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG I'M METAPHORICALLY DYING! PLEASE! HELP ME! TWO OF MY FAVORITE YOUTUBERS ARE HAVING A BABY AND THEY RECENTLY ANNOUNCED IT AND I'M SO EXCITED FOR THEM!!!  
> Ahem.  
> Chapter 5, guys! Enjoy!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_“Just one feather, Khadgar. That’s all we ask for.”_

_“I’m trying! I promise I’m trying!”_

_“Then why does it turn to ashes in my hands?!”_

Khadgar closes the door behind him and looks around at the room he was appointed in the castle. A double bed against one wall, a fireplace directly on the opposite wall with good room in between, perfect for a guest. The window offers a beautiful view of Stormwind from above, and Khadgar wonders how much better it would be to see it from an even higher perspective.

Overall, it’s nice. Not as nice as his chambers in Dalaran. But far better than the torture chamber the Kirin Tor had placed him in.

Just at the thought of that dark and dreadful place and the large amount of time he’d spent in there, an unwelcome chill travels down his spine. He quickly shakes himself out of it, before getting too lost in his memories. It wouldn’t do to fall into a panic attack here, either alone or amongst strangers.

With a sigh, Khadgar lowers himself onto the bed. He really didn’t want to get dragged into this mess. All he’d wanted to do was check out what was causing the Dark Magic, perhaps notify the authority, then start the new life he’d been craving since his days with the Kirin Tor.

He most certainly did _not_ want to be captured by said authority and dragged over for an audience with the king, and then the less-than-friendly Guardian. Who now knows about his wings…and had also insisted he come along with them to check out the place where he’d sensed the Fel.

But what choice did he have?

Even if he hadn’t been caught snooping in the barracks (which, now that he thinks about it, _why didn’t he use a spell to conceal himself?_ ), even if the Guardian hadn’t insisted he join the mission, Khadgar is certain that he still would have gotten involved somehow.

No mage, this close to Dark Magic, would ignore it. It was too dangerous to just let it be. Khadgar himself had seen the results in the form of gruesomely absorbed-dry bodies. Even now, he can feel the subtle waves it emits, like poison water touching his ankles before receding. It’s enough to make him sick to his stomach.

And whether he liked it or not, it was his duty as a mage – renounced vows or not – to see this through.

Khadgar shuts his eyes and sighs as he realizes that keeping his wings hidden will quickly become a problem. He’s too involved now. He may never get the chance to let them out, until all of this is over. And who knows how long that will take.

As if on cue, his back itches in complaint. It’s time to change the bandages.

With a reproachful glance at the door, Khadgar removes his tunic and says the spell to unwrap the bandages on his back.

The whole time, his eyes never move from the door, so he’s quite surprised when a voice behind him says, “Interesting…”

Khadgar whips around, and there, standing by the open window (it was closed!), is the Guardian. He stumbles back a few steps at the unexpected closeness of the taller man. “Guardian!” He gasps. He looks around for his tunic and – of course, the Guardian is standing on it.

“You are an Atavian, yes?” he asks, releasing his grip on the staff.

Khadgar lunges forward to catch it, as the older man walks around to take a closer look at his back. “How did you–” he starts attempting to turn to face him, but the Guardian has no time for his questions.

He grabs him firmly by the shoulder to hold him still and snaps impatiently, “Answer me, boy.”

Khadgar freezes and blinks a few times, before slowly saying, “Yes.”

“Hmm…” The Guardian murmurs, “I was under the impression that your kind was extinct.” He continues as if he didn’t just appear out of thin air, “Died out some time before I was born.”

“The Kirin Tor found me when I was six.” Khadgar says, then adds timidly, “Sir.”

The Guardian nods noncommittally, “And the Kirin Tor, they treated you well?”

Khadgar purses his lips. He would not speak ill of the Kirin Tor in the presence of a former student. But then again, he’d heard rumors of the Guardian’s disdain for them so… “Um…define ‘well’, sir.”

The silence that follows, and the Guardian’s knowing look tells Khadgar that he already knows. Khadgar hesitantly speaks, “Guardian?”

“Hmm.”

“You’re not going to…tell anyone about this, are you?”

The Guardian doesn’t avert his gaze from Khadgar’s back, though the look on his face is a kinder one, “I don’t believe it is my place to tell.” He says and the weight in Khadgar’s chest lessens.

They let the second silence linger, mostly because the Guardian looks to be deep in thought, staring intently at Khadgar’s back.

“The Kirin Tor did this?” he asks after a few minutes.

Khadgar lowers his gaze to the ground, unsure of why he’s feeling so ashamed. Maybe he’s just tired of being the victim. Or maybe he’s resigned himself to it. He prays it isn’t the latter. “Yes.” he whispers.

Long fingers hesitantly reach out, stopping just a few inches from Khadgar’s back. “May I?”

Khadgar wants to say ‘no’, but before he can even take a breath to answer, he feels cool fingers touch the raw skin on his back, that causes him to inhale sharply.

_Please don’t press on them like last time_ , he internally prays, as he feels the Guardian’s fingers gently trace his shoulder blades, the main area of his injury.

It’s almost five whole minutes of observing Khadgar’s back when the Guardian finally says, with realization (and maybe a little bit of horror?) in his voice, “They cut off your wings…?”

And Khadgar waits a few breaths more to whisper, “Yes.”

“And they grew back?”

Khadgar nods. “It’s the magic in the wings.” He explains, “If so much as a feather is taken without permission, it turns to ashes. Then it grows back after a couple of days.”

“I see…” the Guardian says, hands now tracing over the protrusion from where his wings would sprout from should he allow the process to take place, “And if the whole limb is cut off?”

_“Stop! It-it hurts! I-I’m begging you! Please!”_

Khadgar blinks himself out of the memory and feels a phantom pain in his shoulder blades. “A couple of weeks.” he whispers, “No more than a month.”

The Guardian hums in acknowledgement, but otherwise continues tracing his fingers over Khadgar’s shoulder blades, almost as if searching for the opening.

Another five minutes pass by before he asks, “May I…see them?”

At those words, panic zips its way through Khadgar’s body, but he is quick to stomp it down.

_The Guardian won’t hurt me_ , he tells himself firmly, _he knows that the magic in my wings won’t allow him to take my feathers, he knows that it will grow back, and most importantly, he doesn’t have the equipment to de-wing me_.

Forcing himself to keep his panic attack at bay, Khadgar takes a few deep breaths and nods to the Guardian a few times. Then he allows the process to begin.

So, of course that’s when the Commander chooses to burst in through the door, with only the softest of knocks as a split second warning.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ASLSHLSHLGHDSJLKJLASSS! I'M SOO HAPPY FOR MY BBYS!


	6. I count the miles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gotta say, I wasn't expecting this much reviews and kudos from you guys, so thanks. It's really made my day and I'm genuinely touched by the friendliness of this fandom. I love you, guys!  
> Just a heads up, I might not be able to post in a while. I have exams for the next two weeks so I probably won't get much writing done. But I swear to you, I will try my hardest to get a chapter up next weekend. Sorry in advance if I don't. ):  
> On a lighter note, who has watched Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them? I saw it yesterday and it was AMAZING! It hit all the right notes and I had a great time. When the movie ended, everyone burst into applause and I was like, 'These are Potterheads. These are my people. I am home.' :P  
> Here's chapter 6, everyone!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Lothar doesn’t know what to think when he notices Medivh’s eyes follow the kid mage, as he’s led away from the war room. His gaze is intense, like a predator watching prey. And Lothar knows that when Medivh wants something, he’ll stop at nothing to get it. In this case, it’s the bookworm.

Whether it’s got something to do with him being a fellow mage, or just plain lust, Lothar doesn’t know. He wouldn’t be surprised if it’s both. The kid is far from undesirable, with those luscious pink lips and those pretty brown eyes and the long dark lashes that brush his cheekbones with every blink. He’s quite a sight to behold, of that Lothar is certain.

He had noticed it in the glances he’d seen his own guards direct at the mage. Back in the barracks, back in Goldshire, and even now. The guard that had been assigned to escort the kid to the guest chambers had been less than subtle in his awkward advances. It’s laughable, really.

“Medivh,” Llane says, when the three are finally alone, “May I ask what this is about?”

Medivh averts his gaze from the now closed door to look at his king. “What?” he asks.

“Why do you insist on bringing this mage, this _child_ , with you?”

“I would also like to know.” Lothar adds as he pours himself some wine.

“He’s the same age as Callan, is he not?” Medivh defends himself.

“Callan is a soldier.”

Medivh briefly pauses, then shrugs and lowers himself onto the nearest seat, which happens to be the king’s. Lothar raises an eyebrow, but otherwise lets it go. Llane, on the other hand, plants himself into the Commander’s seat. His seat.

“I hope you realize the danger you would be putting him in.” Llane comments.

“Well, if I am to take him as my apprentice, I believe it’s best that he sees what we’re up against.” Medivh says calmly.

Llane does a double take. “Apprentice?” he repeats.

“It’s not set in stone. I should like to see how he fares in more challenging situations, before making my decision. But his magic seems…different…” He trails off and stares into space for a while, mind obviously elsewhere.

Llane sighs impatiently, “And what would the Kirin Tor make of that?” he questions, “They are meant to choose your successor, are they not?”

Medivh makes an odd sound, somewhere between a laugh and a cough. Lothar smirks as Llane lowers his face into one hand and pinches the bridge of his nose with the other.

“Medivh,” he says in his most patient tone, “I know you’ve got history with the Kirin Tor, but you mustn’t make an enemy out of them.”

“And I don’t want to.” Medivh says, “So long as they keep their noses out of my business, there is no enemies to be made.”

“Have care of how you speak, Medivh.” Llane warns, voice weary, “Those are our allies.”

“Our decadent allies.”

“Medivh.”

“I only speak the truth.”

“ _Medivh_.”

Lothar laughs and buries his face behind his glass of wine. Llane shoots him a glare, then looks back to the Guardian and says, “Have you at least informed them, then?”

Medivh shrugs. “I shouldn’t need to.” He responds, “They should know that if there is to be a successor, it is to be handpicked by me, and me alone. I would not have them interfere with my business.” And with that, he rises to his feet and strides out of the war room, only pausing to say, “I’ll be in my chambers.”

Lothar and Llane watch after him for a few moments. Then Lothar murmurs with a low whistle, “Touchy…” and it’s successful in easing the tension in the room.

Llane sighs and eases himself back into the seat. “He’s changed.” he says, “He’s gotten bitter. Lost what little filter he had.”

“Six years of solitude will do that to a man.” Lothar points out. He goes to refill his cup, but is disappointed to find the wine pitcher empty. He need not stay here any longer, then. He’ll find another place that offers him alcohol (his quarters…if Taria hasn’t had it removed…again). “Well,” he places the empty mug and pitcher on the war table, “I’m off. Haven’t slept since I saw you yesterday. Should catch up on sleep while I can.”

“Good idea.” Llane says, and nods his farewell, as Lothar leaves the room.

The guard outside stops him as he walks by with a hand on his shoulder, “Commander, you dropped this.” and he holds out the long beige feather that he’d confiscated from Khadgar the day before.

“Ah, thanks.” Lothar says and takes it from the guard’s hand. He decides that he might as well return it to the kid before he forgot, so with that, he turns and starts heading in the direction of the guest chambers.

Almost ten minutes later, he’s standing outside the door, about to knock when he hears Medivh’s muffled voice say something from inside.

Lothar pauses.

_Didn’t he say he’ll be in his chambers?_

With that thought in mind, Lothar knocks softly on the door and enters. The sight that greets him, has him pausing, hand still on the door handle and mouth still open to speak his greeting.

Medivh is standing directly behind Khadgar, so the view is a little obscured. But from what Lothar had the chance to see, before the two had whipped around to face him, had Lothar feeling both confused and concerned. There were wounds on the kid’s back. And they looked far from accidental.

Someone had been hurting him.

Out of nowhere, protective instincts arise within Lothar, and he feels the need to demand who has done this.

“Lothar,” Medivh says in a casual voice, moving closer and purposefully blocking Khadgar from view, “What brings you here?”

“I came to return something.” Lothar says absently, then cranes his neck to look past Medivh, then back at him when he blocks his view again, “Might I ask what’s going on here?”

“We were discussing the damage that the Fel can do to-”

“Kid, what happened to your back?”

Khadgar, up until this point, had stood frozen in shock. “Nothing.” he says quickly, coming to himself. He mumbles a spell that has bandages appearing out of nowhere and plastering itself over his back.

“That doesn’t look like nothing.” Lothar comments as he sidesteps Medivh, who’s given up all efforts in trying to stop Lothar (like he even tried). “You should get that checked. The infirmary is-”

“I don’t need a healer.” Khadgar says, voice surprisingly firm, as he hastily throws on a tunic. “I’m fine…sir.”

“Right…” Lothar stares at him for a good few seconds. Then, despite the burning curiosity and the need to protect the mage, he decides to just let it be. “I actually came to return this.” he says and holds up the feather and waves it, causing both pairs of eyes to zero in on it.

“Is that-?” Medivh starts, voice full of wonder as he steps forward, but Khadgar’s voice has him stopping dead in his tracks.

“No. It’s not.” The kid says quickly.

Lothar narrows his eyes as Medivh looks back at Khadgar, who shoots him a pleading look. Then he lowers his arm and murmurs, “My mistake.”

Lothar looks from Khadgar – who’s bouncing on the balls of his feet in anxiety – to Medivh – whose face is as cool and expressionless as always. “Okay, now I _know_ you’re hiding something.” he says, brows furrowed as he tries to figure out exactly what it is.

“Lothar,” Medivh says in a calm and reproachful voice, “This is between Khadgar and the Kirin Tor.”

“The Kirin Tor.” Of course. When does Medivh _not_ concern himself with the Kirin Tor’s affairs? “And somehow you’re involved.” he states rather than asks.

Medivh doesn’t respond. He doesn’t need to.

Lothar drops his head back and sighs at the ceiling, “I’m not drunk enough for this shit.” he mutters under his breath, and turns his eyes to Khadgar, who shrinks back at the intensity of his gaze. He holds the feather out once more. “Your feather.”

Medivh looks like he really, _really_ wants to grab it from him; it almost looks like he’s in physical pain, holding himself back.

Khadgar takes one hesitant step forwards, and when the ground doesn’t crumble underneath his feet, he traipses forward and takes the feather by the end, tugging gently. Lothar holds onto it for a few seconds, icy blue eyes scanning the mage’s face, before he frees his grip.

“We leave at dawn.” He says and strides out of Khadgar’s chambers.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SIKE! HAHAHAHAHA!  
> See you guys when I see you! (I don't know when because EXAMS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! FML)


	7. Will you be there waiting?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So um...you all probably hate me now...?  
> I genuinely apologize for my neglect.  
> On the bright side, my exams are over and I'll be back to posting chapters weekly.  
> Also, it's December 7 (in some places). That means IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!!!  
> Wait...so why am I treating you on my birthday?  
> I better be finding some good fics to read! Y'all owe me this! :P

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_“The outside world, what is it like?”_

_“Depends on how you look at it. There’s the good side, with love, and families, and happiness. And then there’s the bad side. With all the sickness, and hate, and war, and…and death…”_

Throughout the trip, Khadgar had been thinking that the path looked familiar. Now he knows why.

As they approach the site, it becomes clear to Khadgar, exactly where they are.

Just two days prior, he had spent the night here. Now, the inn, or what is left of it, stands in shambles. Bodies lay scattered all over the area, some brutally mutilated, some missing limbs, and some with their life sucked dry by what is doubtlessly the dreadful Fel magic. Green gas still escapes the infected trees and it’s one of these that draws the Guardian’s attention.

“It can’t be…” he mutters under his breath and strides forward to look at the poisonous green is oozing from the tree.

Khadgar lunges forward to catch the staff as the Guardian releases it, and that’s when his gaze catches a small body lying by the entrance to the inn, with its limbs twisted in impossible angles. He brings up his hand and covers his mouth to conceal a whimper.

 _There had been children here_.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Having spent the majority of his life in the battlefield, Lothar knows exactly how it feels to have bodies lying about everywhere, blood covering every surface, lifeless eyes staring into nothingness…

This…this is nothing like it.

It’s not just soldiers and horses. No, this is far worse. Men and women without weapons and armor, small children with toys still clutched in their hands…all these defenseless bodies are strewn about. None of them ever stood a chance.

This was a massacre. Not a single survivor to be seen.

But Lothar, a seasoned warrior, keeps his face neutral as his eyes scan the bloodbath before him. He slips off his horse and lowers himself by the nearest body. This is one of the more naturally killed ones. Well…naturally meaning the man’s chest had been crushed, ribs forced inwards; no doubt mutilating the delicate organs inside.

Lothar had known this man; the innkeeper. He had been more than helpful when he or his soldiers were passing by the area. He would always have a room ready for them, always unwilling to charge the protectors of Stormwind.

 _Some protecting we did now_.

With a sigh, Lothar removes an armored glove and leans forward to close the glassy eyes of Lod the innkeeper of Vilemyr Inn.

“It can’t be…” Medivh’s voice says and Lothar looks up to see his old friend release his staff as he approaches a tree and Khadgar stumbles a few steps forward to catch it.

Khadgar, whose free hand moves up to cover his mouth. Khadgar, whose eyes glimmer with unshed tears, as he stares at the mangled body of a child near the destroyed inn. Khadgar who has probably never dealt with death in his life before. Khadgar, who is barely sixteen years old, and has already seen too much of this cruel world.

 _He should have stayed with the Kirin Tor_ , Lothar thinks. Despite all the issues he may have had with those mages, nothing could be as bad as this massacre.

Lothar turns his attention back to the corpse before him. He dips his hand in the innkeeper’s blood and a sense of foreboding goes through him.

Warm blood.

It means that whoever…or _what_ ever attacked these people, must still be nearby.

Lothar snaps to his feet, hand hovering over his sword. Many of his soldiers seem to have come to the same conclusion as him, and they too stand at the ready. Lothar’s eyes scan the trees surrounding the destroyed inn, looking for any sign of movement.

…

Then an axe comes out of nowhere and pierces a guard.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_“I’m impressed! You’re learning fast. You’ve already mastered your beginner’s basics.”_

_“I’m not sure if that’s an insult or not.”_

_“Insult? How so?”_

_“I don’t know, maybe because I’m ten and I’ve just now mastered beginners.”_

_“With context, you’ve mastered something that takes a whole year for six-year-olds to do. And you’ve done it in two months.”_

“Close ranks!”

Khadgar whips around at the Commander’s orders and is horrified at the scene that unfolds before him. Huge monsters with terrible sharp teeth, the likes of which Khadgar has never seen before, are attacking them from all sides. One punch alone is enough to decimate even the largest of humans, but these monsters also carry weapons bigger than a man’s torso.

Khadgar stumbles back a few steps when he sees one of the monsters running at him and the Guardian at full speed. He shouts out a spell that blasts the attacker backwards. Then casts a defensive spell that creates a protective sphere around himself and the Guardian.

The Guardian…who is still staring at the Fel infected tree, mesmerized.

Movement in his peripheral draws his attention and he looks to his left to see another one of those monsters trying to break through his dome, huge fists banging on the clear blue aura.

“Guardian!” Khadgar cries urgently, but gets no response.

It’s several minutes later, when the Guardian finally moves.

His hands start glowing with glyphs as he murmurs a spell under his breath. Khadgar barely has time to process what is going on before the Guardian slams his hand onto the ground. The spell travels through the floor and starts to target the monsters. As soon as it hits, their bodies start draining out the green aura of the Fel and…wait… _is it going into the Guardian?_

It looks like it’s extremely painful and a cruel way to die. Overall, it’s a sick sight. Khadgar is so horrified that he can’t even tear his gaze away. When he finally manages to snap out of it, he notices the remaining monsters (the ones that weren’t green) are fleeing on their mutated wolves and a couple of stolen horses…and…

 _Hey, that’s my horse_!

It’s several minutes later when the Guardian ends the spell. He glances up at Khadgar, who stares back in confusion, wonder and a little bit of fear. That spell is not one he’s ever read of before.

“Guardian…” Khadgar begins, but the Guardian doesn’t answer and busies himself by swiftly ending Khadgar’s spell. “Guardian, what did you do?”

The staff is grabbed from Khadgar’s hand and the Guardian forms a teleportation spell on the ground.

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

The Guardian continues ignoring him and completes the spell and stares straight ahead and…is he leaving?

Khadgar blinks at him. “Where are you going?” he asks.

“Get these men safely back to Stormwind.” the Guardian tells him, “I have to return to Karazhan.” then he hesitates before adding, “You did well today.”

And despite everything Khadgar has seen today, a small spark of joy goes through him at being praised by the Guardian.

But then it quickly fades when the Commander asks him where his horse is.

Two hours later finds the party heading back towards the kingdom with two of the monsters locked inside the cage. The bigger one had recently regained consciousness and was looking downright murderous, even more so when the smaller one had started conversing with the Commander. He starts jerking at the chains wrapped around his wrist.

“Tell him to stop.” the Commander tells the smaller…um…monster.

“ _You_ tell him.” she snipes back.

At this, the bigger monster breaks free and lunges at the female. But the Commander sticks his sword inside the cage and the monster ends up running right into it.

There is a moment of frozen silence in which Khadgar stares in horror at the thick green blood that spurts out of the monster’s neck.

“You’re welcome.” the Commander says and pulls his sword out and wipes it on a piece of cloth that is handed to him by one of his men.

Khadgar quickly turns back around and pulls his cloak over his head, before he could start retching right there and then.

“Can’t stand blood?” The guard on the carriage beside him inquires.

 _More like can’t stand the stench of it_ , Khadgar thinks and shoots him a helpless wide-eyed look from under the hood of his cloak. Then offers a nod when he realizes that his face is not visible.

The Commander huffs out a breath of laughter at Khadgar’s squeamishness and even the remaining occupant in the cage looks amused.

Khadgar, while glad that he can’t be seen, silently fumes at everyone around him. Of course he doesn’t like blood. It signifies injury and death. It signifies pain and torture. It signifies the life that he left behind.

There is a long silence, which the monster breaks by saying quietly, “Thank you.”

It stuns everyone into another silence. No one was expecting gratitude from a prisoner.

“We are orcs.” she continues, “I am Garona.”

“Where do you come from?” the Commander asks.

Garona looks like she’s about to answer, but thinks better of it. “I would speak with your leader.” she says instead, “I do not want to repeat myself.”

 _Fair enough_ , Khadgar thinks.

Everyone else seems to think so too, since no one objects. They trek in silence for almost an hour, when Garona speaks again. “You are different from them.”

It takes a second for Khadgar to register that the orc had aimed those words at him. “Huh?” he says stupidly, as he turns to face her. Then he swiftly turns away at the sight of the dead orc.

“Your blood, it runs different from these warriors.”

“That is because I’m not a warrior.” Khadgar tells her, “I’m a mage.”

Garona narrows her eyes and stares at Khadgar intensely (um…uncomfortable much?), as if considering something. “No…” she says slowly, “I know what a mage’s scent is. Yours is not that.” And to Khadgar’s horror, the orc’s green eyes settle on the air above Khadgar’s shoulder. “How is the wound on your back?”

That catches the Commander’s attention. He tips his head to one side and looks curiously between Khadgar and Garona.

“Healing.” Khadgar says shortly. _Why is everyone curious with him when an undiscovered species is sitting in the cage?!_ Khadgar thinks angrily.

This conversation would be so much more exciting if he wasn’t the one being interrogated.

“How did you get it?”

_Quick! Think of an excuse!_

“I fell.”

_Nice._

The Commander, the orc, and all the guards within earshot are a mixture of annoyed and amused at Khadgar’s obvious lie. Somehow, the Commander’s curiosity has spread to all his men, and now, they too are suddenly obsessed with figuring out the reason behind Khadgar’s secretiveness.

It annoys Khadgar to no end.

“Is that why you and Medivh were behaving so strangely?”

Khadgar opens his mouth to answer, but discovers that he has no excuse. So he shuts his mouth with an audible _click_ and rights himself in his seat. Then he whips out a book from his satchel and starts to read.

They can’t question him if he ignores them.

He can hear the multiple sighs of exasperation long before he’s finished reading the first sentence.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 coming up next week. I'm thinking I should up the Khadgar/Lothar moments, we're nearing the halfway point of the fic. What do you think?


	8. Awake until sunrise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know you want to kill me. I want to kill me too.  
> But...um...hi? I'm back...? PLEASEDONTKILLME  
> I legit have no excuse except my buddy called Factory Reset decided to pay me a visit. Twice. You'd think I'd have learnt my lesson the first time it happened...but NOOOO, I just HAD to leave my stuff un-backed-up.  
> But fret not, this time, I'm working on Google Docs and Google Docs only. Goodbye MS Word, hello rely-on-my-shitty-wifi. ),:
> 
> ANYWAY, this chapter is begins with a deleted scene (which you'll find on youtube if you just type in 'Warcraft deleted scenes'). It's that part where Lothar is talking to his two men about The Black Morass, and then Medivh about why he froze up like a statue.  
> If you haven't seen it, it's not that important that you do, since the first little scene is pretty much word for word (sorry about that).  
> Anyway, ENJOY!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“The Black Morass.”

“You believe her?” Varis asks Lothar, sounding a bit accusing. Of course it would be Varis. The ever doubtful, overcautious man, questioning at every turn.

“It’s all we have to go on.” Lothar replies, and he’s unable to hide his annoyance at having so few options. It’s even worse when his own men are looking at him like some new kind of crazy. “What do you think?”

Karos seems more open to the idea, “Could hide an army in there.” he says.

But Varis on the other hand, “Or lose one.” the man counters.

“Let’s say if this…uh…”

“Orc.” Karos offers.

“ _ Orc _ …can be trusted.” he says. Then he notices Medivh’s presence behind him and follows with, “We leave at dawn.” leaving no room for argument.

Varis harrumphs disapprovingly.

Lothar ignores him and turns to Medivh, who greets him with, “I won’t be going with you.”

Lothar half shrugs, expecting an explanation. But the mage just starts walking away from him, so he asks, “You don’t think it’s useful to see the enemy firsthand?”

“I have things to attend to.” Medivh says ambiguously. And Lothar hates it when Medivh gets ambiguous. He can’t go around keeping secrets when involved in a situation unlike any other they’ve ever faced. And when said secrets could possibly be the reason that he had stood stock still, while staring at the Fel infested tree, then they’ve got a real problem at hand.

They cannot afford to lose the Guardian.

“What happened to you today?” he demands.

“I was studying our foe.” Medivh replies after a short pause.

“If it wasn’t for the kid, you’d be studying the edge of an axe.”

Loath as he is to admit it, Khadgar did have some talent for the arcane arts. Though his self-preservation skills could use some work, what with sneaking into a building filled with armed men, and leaning dangerously back on a gryphon that is over fifty feet in the air.

“Well, take him with you, then.” Medivh says, “He’s more powerful than you think.”

Oh, Lothar had no doubt about that. But before he could point out the boy’s lack of self-preservation, Medivh has already walked away.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_ “Tell me about the Guardian.” _

_ “He’s a good man. Very cool and calculating, even apathetic at times. But never doubt that he’s one of the truly good men left in Azeroth. He always hated the Kirin Tor and their ways.” _

_ “I would like to meet him someday.” _

Khadgar has had it with all these close calls.

Ten years with the Kirin Tor and no one outside of the main circle had suspected a thing. And now, barely three days in Stormwind and already the Guardian knows. The half-orc that he now knows to be Garona more or less knows. The Commander is suspicious. And because of the Commander, all the guards have begun casting Khadgar subtle (or what they probably think is subtle) glances as he passes them by.

It’s really very irritating. And scary. Knowing that he’s so close to having his secret revealed. In the blink of an eye, it could be back to the Kirin Tor with him. Back to being their prisoner, their experiment, their  _ toy _ .

Khadgar shakes himself out of it before he gets too deep in the prison that is his memories.

He would never go back alive.

As soon as he’d been allowed to leave the king’s hall after delivering Garona, he’d retreated into his temporary chambers and, still feeling paranoid from his last close call, decided to ignore the itch on his back, and tries to go to sleep. But the unfamiliarity of the place mixed with the usual nightmares he has, has him tossing and turning. So he gives that up in favor of sifting through the book he’d…ah… _ borrowed _ from the Guardian.

He doesn’t understand half of it, but what sense he can make of it, he writes down, because that book seems to know what it’s talking about (writing about?). Something about  _ The Great Gate _ – which sounds similar to what Garona had been describing – catches his eye. And the caption underneath it ( _ from light comes darkness; and from darkness, light _ ) screams importance, so Khadgar writes that down next to the several other notes he’d taken.

He doesn’t notice that he’s been up till dawn, until a knock on the door startles Khadgar out of the mysterious book. He slams it shut and shoves it underneath the bed. “Come in.” he says, voice a little breathless.

The door creaks open and the Commander’s son, Callan pops his head into the room. “You are to join the Commander, to scope out the Black Morass.” he says, looking dejected for some reason. “I’m to escort you to him.”

“Okay. Just let me…” Khadgar puts the book aside and hastens to throw on his tunic and cloak. “Lead the way.” he says, and follows the guard out of his chambers.

They walk in silence for a while, Khadgar taking every opportunity to peek out the giant glass windows, while Callan walks ahead. Then he slows down till they’re side by side and hesitantly asks, “How’s your neck?”

Khadgar’s hand instantly travels up to cover the still-bruised area. A subconscious tick. “Healing.” he says and forces himself to lower his hand.

Callan hums in acknowledgement. Then says, “It was the Kirin Tor, wasn’t it?”

Khadgar’s heart skips a beat, and he has to force himself from tensing up. He stares determinedly ahead, hating himself for how easily the name alone leaves him feeling anxious.

At his lack of response, Callan continues, “The Guardian, he’s less than fond of them. Doesn’t like their methods of teaching, he says. I always wondered what that meant. I guess now I know.” he nods his head at Khadgar’s neck, then sighs sadly. “I’ve heard that magic-binding is a terrible experience for mages. Medivh says that it’s like losing one of your senses.”

“He’s not wrong.” Khadgar comments, stubbornly ignoring the phantom feeling of the dreadful jewelry clamped around his neck. Restricting his breathing. Tightening. Choking him… _ no air…can’t breathe…help me… _

“That’s why we at Stormwind only use it as a last resort.” Callan’s voice cuts through the haziness, “It wasn’t hard to convince the Commander to leave it off, when you…ah… _ stumbled _ upon the barracks.”

Khadgar doesn’t recall the Commander’s son being there when he had been caught that day. He only remembers Callan being appointed to escort him to Goldshire a while later.

Word sure travels fast around Stormwind.

“Speaking of, did he return your feather?”

Khadgar nods.

“The Commander is a good man.” Callan says, after another short silence. “His temper may be short, and his drinking habit is a little excessive, but…there is no man better fit to be Commander than my dad.”

“He sounds great.” Khadgar says, “I only wish he didn’t distrust me so much.”

“Distrust you?” Callan repeats, then laughs, “Yeah, he’s like that with everyone. It takes a while for him to warm up to people. Warrior instincts.”

_ Or, he probably doesn’t like the fact that something is being hidden from him _ , Khadgar thinks, but smiles at Callan instead.

“Give it time.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I can't apologize enough...but to heck with it.  
> SORRY!!!!


	9. I travelled in darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep feeling like I'm making excuses over and over, but really, the past few months have just been slow for me. They might still be slow in the future, so please bear with me.  
> I also had a lupus flare (kinda like a relapse...which was my own damn fault since I kept forgetting to take my medication) along with a virus infection that I caught from an infant (of all people), but you'll be happy to know (at least, I hope you'll be happy to know) that I'm recovering from that mess.  
> That said, I can't make any promises of regular updates, so sorry for that.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

He can feel Garona smirking at him.

No, not just Garona, but also the three guards accompanying them.

Their damned smirks are burning into his back. It’s fucking uncomfortable. Lothar just wants to tell them to shut up. But no one is talking. So he can’t.

He should have listened to Callan. He should have swallowed his pride and humored the spell-chucker. And he most definitely shouldn’t have told him to shut up.

Because Callan hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Lothar about the kid’s tactics.

When Lothar had told Khadgar to stop with the endless questioning, the mage had pouted, _ pouted _ , and then pulled out a book from his cloak and started reading it. Any attempts to talk to him had resulted in either short, cold replies, or none at all. When Garona or the guards talked to him, his response would be longer and warmer, which only worked on annoying Lothar further.

Khadgar and Garona had found friendship somewhere between Stormwind and now, so when his horse had started wandering off without someone to guide it, the orc hadn’t hesitated in taking the reins from him, for which she’d received a small thankful smile.

Everyone is relieved when Lothar finally decides to stop and make camp for the night (it’s a guilty pleasure, watching his men suffer; don’t tell anyone).

“Bookworm,” he says, and Khadgar’s gaze leaves his book (finally!) to settle coolly on him. “Take the first watch.”

“Respectfully, Commander, my name is Khadgar.” he replies, voice even, but with a hint of I’m-so-done-with-you.

“My deepest apologies, Khadgar.” Lothar says with a mock bow, “You see, I thought we bonded when I didn’t put you in a prison cell for breaking into the royal barracks.”

Garona is amused. Khadgar is  _ not _ .

“Now take the watch.” Lothar finishes with a smirk.

Khadgar’s eyes, though a warm honey-brown, feel like searing ice as he fixes Lothar with a cold stare. He slips off his horse with ease, whips out his book, and primly lowers himself onto a patch of grass before turning his gaze from Lothar to the book.

A hand claps on his shoulder and Karos’ voice murmurs, “You’re digging your own grave, mate.”

Lothar is well aware of that. But he’s far more stubborn than Callan (in some cases, at least). He refuses to back down.

With poorly contained mirth, Garona ties their horses’ reins to a protruding rock and seats herself beside Khadgar. A small silence takes place as the guards set up camp, while Garona peeks over Khadgar’s shoulder.

“What are you reading?” she asks after a while.

“It’s a book that the Guardian gave to me.” the mage replies, “It’s about rare and extinct creatures of Azeroth. This edition is about creatures with flight, like dragons, wyverns, perytons…Atavian…”

“Atavian?” Garona repeats, “I’ve never heard of them.”

“They’re like…humans, but with the gift of flight…”

“They can fly?”

Khadgar nods. Lothar notices his eyes glowing with excitement as he explains, “They’ve got huge wings with enough strength to lift them off the ground. It’s also got magical properties. I’ve read that one feather alone, contains enough power to heal a mortal wound.”

“Must have saved a lot of lives.” Lothar comments offhandedly. “No wonder they all died out.”

Khadgar, sensing the sarcasm in Lothar’s voice, fixes him with a hard stare. “I hardly think an Atavian can  _ pluck  _ themselves to death, Commander.” he tells Lothar, “Their wings can be removed, but if the wound is cauterized, they will survive.”

Garona seems to staring intently at Khadgar, brows furrowed.  “So…how  _ did  _ they die out?” she asks slowly.

Khadgar’s gaze turns a little glassy but keeps his eyes locked on Lothar. “Um…One needs consent to gain access to the magic of an Atavian.” he explains, “And it was readily given, until men and women started to use it for more selfish purposes. When the Atavian declined, the humans decided to attain it through more forceful methods.” he looks away from Lothar, turning his gaze to the small fire that Brandon had started. “Taken without permission, the feathers turned to ashes, so the humans started cutting their whole wings off. And when they, too, turned to ashes…they…they turned to torture…”

Garona stares at him, shock painting her features, “Then why didn’t they just give permission?” she asks.

Khadgar shrugs. “I don’t think it’s that simple.” he says, “When you’re in pain…in so much pain, that even death is a mercy…you just want it to stop. So you’d say anything, agree to anything, so long as there’s no more…” he trails off, eyes going out of focus as he stares unblinkingly at the fire.

“Kid?” Lothar says, but doesn’t get a reply. He waves his hand in front of Khadgar.

Garona hesitantly reaches out and touches him on the shoulder. Khadgar jumps away from the touch like he’s been stung. “Sorry.” he mumbles, as he squirms, suddenly uncomfortable with all eyes on him, “I got lost in thought.”

Everyone is staring at him.

“Khadgar,” Lothar speaks up after a while, “Have you been tortured before?”

Khadgar glances up at him for a split second, then behind him at the three guards (who are suddenly very busy doing one thing or another), before looking away, expression changing from apprehensive and distant, to something more neutral.

“The…the wings,” Khadgar says, instead of answering the Commander’s question, “it understands the intention. It will only allow access to its magic if the Atavian whole-heartedly wills it. Torture has no influence to the heart. That is why the land-walkers…um the humans, were unable to possess even a single feather.”

And with that, Khadgar shuts the book and stands up, five pairs of eyes following him as he rises.

“Um…it looks like it’s going to rain soon.” He says and follows with a few foreign words

“What are you talking about?” Varis asks, “The skies are clear.”

But an invisible wave is already circling their perimeter, as Khadgar finishes the spell.

“What was that?” Brandon asks, when he sees no visual proof of the spell.

It will protect us from the rain.” Khadgar tells him.

“If it rains.” Varis mutters under his breath.

Khadgar gives him a deadpan look. “Birds are known to predict the weather.” he says, “And right now, they are quite low in the sky, probably seeking shelter. If you look to the east, you can see in the distance, the clouds rolling in.”

Everyone looks east. And Lothar has to hand it to Khadgar; he’s got keen eyes. The grey clouds are barely noticeable with all these mountains and hills surrounding them, but they are there.

Varis wisely remains silent. Karos and Brandon snicker in the background.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've pre-written one chapter, so there's that. Please don't hate me.


	10. For what seemed like days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG we made it to chapter 10! I'd say we're around halfway through the story. I've got it all planned out. Actually typing it up is where the problem lies.  
> So thanks for sticking with me this far and even more thanks for the lovely support you give me with your kudos and comments. I can't express my gratitude enough.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_ “Whatever you do, don’t let anyone find out about your secret. There are many people out there, just as cruel as your tormentors…if not worse…” _

It’s been almost two hours, and as Khadgar had predicted, the clouds give way and it’s pouring within seconds. But not a single drop hits the small camp they had made. Khadgar’s spell had created an invisible dome-like shelter, where the rain is harmlessly rolling onto the ground.

“Looks like you were right, kid.” the Commander comments, while Garona and two of the three guards are looking up in wonder. The other guard, the one that he’d proven wrong, is scowling somewhere behind them, as he absently feeds an apple to his horse.

Khadgar glances up at the Commander, before shrugging and going back to his book.

The main reason he had predicted the weather was because his sheathed wings could feel it too. It had been almost impossible to ignore. The threat of rain always carried an ominous tingle down his spine. Khadgar dreaded to think of what would happen, should he find himself in a situation where he is in the sky when the clouds give.

“Why did you leave the Kirin Tor?”

It takes a moment for the question to process through Khadgar’s brain.

“Um…why did I leave…uh-what?” he stutters.

“The mages in the floating city provided you with safety and an education.” the Commander says, as he seats himself beside Khadgar, “Why would you desert them?”

Khadgar doesn’t know how to respond without lying. So he keeps his mouth shut and stares at his book. The Commander’s gaze feels like fire on the side of his head, but he forces himself to ignore it.

“You have scars on your back.”

Khadgar remains silent.

“You have scars on your back. And you have an aversion to arcane-bindings. You get jumpy when there is a loud sound or when someone touches you…and whenever someone confronts you, you shut down.”

Khadgar flips onto the next page (nearly ripping it in the process), and would you look at that? It’s on the Atavian species.

“Like now.”

The book is gently pried away from his shaking hands (when did they start shaking?) and placed on the ground beside him.

“Khadgar, look at me.” the Commander says, voice the softest Khadgar has ever heard coming from him. And in the next second, a warm, scarred hand cups his chin and guides his gaze to meet the Commander’s icy eyes. “There are so many questions I want answered. What are you hiding? Why did you leave the Kirin Tor, only to assist their allies? Why is Medivh so fascinated with you? But…right now, I just want to know…who hurt you?”

Khadgar stares at the Commander with wide eyes, unsure of how to answer. He doesn’t want to say that it was pretty much all the leaders of the Kirin Tor – Stormwind’s loyal allies – that had simultaneously made the decision. They had all looked at a six-year-old boy with tiny white wings sprouting from his back, and, without batting an eye, subjected him to ten years of pain and torture.

This is the Commander of the Stormwind Army. The Lion of Azeroth. The queen’s brother. Khadgar cannot just tell him that the Kirin Tor is involved in something less than legal. Especially not with the Fel’s reach that stretches ever further with every second.

“I-I don’t want to cause a rift between…um…” Khadgar bites his lips. He looks at the Commander, then past him at the guards, who are talking amongst each other, then at Garona, who has given up all pretenses in being subtle, shamelessly eavesdropping on them. “Can we please just drop it?” he pleads, “I…I don’t want-I…I’m tired…” he pulls himself away and takes his book, opening it to a random page to avoid looking at those intense eyes.

The Commander looks like he’s about to say something, but thinks better of it. Instead, he gently touches Khadgar on his shoulder (don’t jump…don’t jump… _ don’t jump _ …), then stands up and goes to his guards, and within a few seconds, they’re talking tactics.

This gives Garona the opportunity to sidle up to him and place her hand on his back. On his right shoulder blade, to be exact. “They must be very simple-minded, to not make the connection.” she murmurs into Khadgar’s ear, as he sucks in a startled breath.

WHY?! WHY DOES THIS ALWAYS HAPPEN TO HIM?!

“Um…I-I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Garona smirks as she takes a seat opposite him, turning her eyes to the book on his lap. She starts flipping the pages until it lands on an illustration of three Atavian amidst clouds. “Atavian, it is called, yes?”

“No…?”

“How big are they, I wonder.”

“Um…not big at all. Since I don’t have wi-um…they. Them. It.”

Garona fixes him with an unimpressed stare. Khadgar stares back, face as blank as he can keep it. But Khadgar’s acting has always been terrible. And Garona’s acid green eyes are way too intense to stare at for too long. So Khadgar purses his lips and looks away, before he can do something stupid (stupid meaning spill the beans on the whole Khadgar-is-an-Atavian matter).

But then his gaze snaps back to her when she says loudly, “Commander…!”

And literally, everyone in Khadgar’s protective dome falls silent (including the damn horses), and turn their gazes to Garona, whose eyes are still burning into Khadgar’s.

“Yes orc, what do you need?” the Commander asks, voice casual, even as his gaze travels to Khadgar.

Garona’s eyes flash in irritation at being called ‘orc’, but it doesn’t seem to deter her. She smirks at Khadgar and says, “I think I’ve figured it out.”

The Commander looks like he knows what’s going on, but is choosing to stay out of it. “Figured what out…?” he asks slowly, moving so that he’s standing in front of the three ( _ very curious _ ) guards. So that he can protect them from whatever Garona is planning. Or so that their line of sight doesn’t involve Khadgar.

Khadgar, meanwhile, is silently pleading to the deities to end his life here and now. He contemplates making a break for it. Maybe ripping his clothes off and taking flight…ah…right…rain (as if to prove its point, the sky makes a loud sound and the world flashes white with lightning).

Something akin to fear or horror must have shown on his face, as Garona subtly takes his hand in hers and gives a firm squeeze, before releasing, “How to use the contraption…” she says, “The one you call…boomstick...I think…”

“Oh?”

Her eyes scan Khadgar’s face one more time, then she stands up and joins the group of soldiers. “Yes.” she says, “I think I do. May I use it on your head?”

This startles the Commander into laughter and his men are quick to follow (always basking in the moments when their leader has a rare smile upon his face).

Khadgar is too stunned to laugh, so instead, he clenches his hands into a fist, so tight it hurts (to feel  _ something _ ) and forces his eyes back to the book lying innocently in his lap.

The illustration of the Atavian stare back at him, as if taunting him.

Khadgar wants to rip it to pieces.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know if there's anything you don't like about the story. My writing style is still kinda weird; I tend to go dialogue heavy, but I'm going to try my hardest to add more narration. Anyway, hope you enjoyed, and I'll see you when I do!


	11. I come from the sinkholes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm not dead yet. Here's the next chapter. I've also managed to write two more chapters, and then hit major writer's block. I'm at a part in the story where I can't continue without either pushing through the boring bit or skipping it completely. So...help?

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_ “Have you ever tried…just flying away?” _

_ “Yes, and I’m never doing that again.” _

_ “Why not?” _

_ “They’ve put a spell on me. When I get a specific amount of distance from this place…something…zaps me. And it’s enough to make me blackout. I was lucky that I wasn’t too high from the ground the first time I tried it.” _

“Garona, we should go. It’s not safe here–mmph!”

_ Oh Light, that’s a big hand _ , Khadgar notices in his bewildered panic, while his wings attempt to  _ rip _ out of his skin.  _ With…very big fingers. With a lot of strength in it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die! _

Garona whirls around, surprisingly calm for someone facing against a foe so huge. “Durotan.” she says, and Khadgar assumes that’s his name.

She’s with him, Khadgar realizes as they begin to exchange foreign words, and he doesn’t know why that hurts so much. Well, he does know. He actually liked her. They were actually getting along. He had come close to considering her his friend…

_ No no no nononononoNO…the Kirin Tor! They’ve found me! They’re going to take me back…prison…no please no no NO nononoo…my wings…they’regoingtotakemywings…!!!! _

The orc tightening his grip over Khadgar’s mouth brings him back from…wherever his mind had sped off to and he realizes that he had been struggling to break free. Garona shoots him a warning look and Khadgar reluctantly stills. Then they resume talking…and…why does it sound like they’re conspiring?

Are they going to kill him?

_ Wasn’t that a given? _ a cruel voice inside his head asks and a tear slides down his cheek, unbidden.

But then…the orc removes his hand from Khadgar’s mouth and ghosts over the scars on his back before gently turning him around. Khadgar stares up at him (he’s huge!), still deciding on whether he should run or not.

Before he could come to a decision though, the orc thumps him on the chest with such gentleness that he might as well be made of glass (the fact that Khadgar’s feeling very breakable right now doesn’t help very much with disproving that theory). Then he puts his hand to his own chest, and turns and walks away.

Was that a gesture of…friendship…or something…?

Khadgar doesn’t know how long he stares after him, just that it’s long enough for Garona to approach him from behind and put a hand on his shoulder.

Which was a mistake.

With a startled shriek, Khadgar rips himself away from the touch and without even a warning, his instincts take control.

He doesn’t even know what happened, just that when his mind is his again, he’s hovering several feet above the ground. The back of his tunic is torn to accommodate his wings, that are now flapping against the air, keeping him airborne (at least his cloak made it out alive).

Garona is standing almost directly below him, hand still outstretched to where Khadgar had been standing a moment ago. Her gaze though, is focused on him, eyes wide in shock and wonder as she surveys the new limbs that he had grown in less than a second.

“So beautiful…” she whispers, as if mesmerized.

They stare at each other for probably five whole minutes, when Garona finally seems to come to herself and says in a more composed voice (though her eyes are still burning with curiosity), “His name is Durotan. He is a friend.”

Khadgar stares, unwilling to come down, now that he’s finally in the air. His body is  _ humming _ with magical energy, enhanced by the unique chemicals his unsheathed wings emit, delicate veins carrying it to his heart, that then pumps it  _ everywhere _ …and without chains to hold him back…Light, he’s never felt so  _ alive _ …

“He wants to help us.” Garona tries again, “To destroy the Fel. He is on our side.”

Khadgar looks up at the sky.

Almost cloudless, as if it hadn’t even rained yesterday. And for one selfish moment, he wants to fly. Up…into the sky…far away from the poisonous Fel, far away from the traces of the Kirin Tor,  _ far away from cruelty of this world _ …

But then that moment is gone and Khadgar turns his gaze below him. And with great hesitation, he eases himself to the floor and the wings sheathe themselves, as if they were never even there to begin with.

He looks at Garona, eyes wide and pleading, as he whispers, “Please don’t tell anyone…”

Garona stares at him for a moment, but as she opens her mouth to say something, a voice from behind Khadgar exclaims, “I knew it!”

The panic that fills Khadgar almost has him taking flight again. Instead, he tramps it down and turns around to see Karos and Brandon, the two guards assigned by the Commander to get him and Garona safely back to Stormwind.

Karos is still out cold, while Brandon is cradling one hand to his chest carefully, gawking at Khadgar with an expression similar to Garona’s.

There’s a long silence, but the fear and anticipation makes it deafening to Khadgar’s ears. His body wants nothing more than to flee, but against his own will, he forces his feet to remain on the ground and his wings firmly under his skin.

Brandon is  _ good _ , he tells himself. Brandon is the one who talked the Commander into removing the magic binding necklace. He won’t…he won’t…he’s not like that…like… _ them _ …

“You-you can’t tell anyone…” Khadgar all but gasps out, “N-no one can know. Please I’m begg-”

“Whoa, kid, calm down.” Brandon cuts in, voice as soothing as he can muster, despite the pain he must be in, “It’s okay. We won’t tell anyone. Will we, Garona?”

The orc in question shakes her head vigorously. “Your secret is safe with us.” she says and puts her hand over her heart, just like the big orc did.

And for some insane reason, Khadgar believes them.

Some hours (and one cloth-repairing spell) later, a recently roused Karos leads the small group back to Stormwind. He doesn’t look to be in a particularly chatty mood, what with being whacked on the head with an arm as thick as his torso. Brandon is putting all his energy into riding with one hand, while the other is secured to his chest in a makeshift sling. Khadgar is still recovering from his shock, so he’s more than okay with petting his horse while they ride in silence.

Garona has other ideas.

“You’re terrible at acting.” she says as she sidles up to him. “Your eyes, they’re too expressive.”

Khadgar blinks. “My eyes?”

“Yes. It gives all your emotions away. It makes you easy to read.”

She tilts her head, watching him intensely for a few seconds, and it’s like she’s invading his thoughts with just those  _ acid green eyes _ . Khadgar rips his gaze away from her and stares down at his horse.

“Far too easy.” she says, and is that amusement in her voice?

“Well, maybe I should avoid  _ looking _ at people altogether.” Khadgar mutters sarcastically.

Garona huffs out a laugh. “Now that’s an idea.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely comments. They are love! <3  
> I can only offer my apologies for the neglection. So sorry. ):


	12. Collapsed under this weight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Casually drops an intense chapter and leaves.*

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_ “Are these experiments really worth his life?” _

“I must speak with your chief…oh…”

The royal infirmary is rather full when Khadgar and Garona follow Brandon and Karos inside. Healers are running from bed to bed, tending to each wounded person’s needs.

“What happened?” Karos wonders, voicing Khadgar’s thoughts.

“My injuries can wait.” Brandon declares, even as he winces when his hand is jostled, “They need it more.”

As they start backing out of the room, a healer notices their presence and exclaims, “My lords!”

Another healer appears behind them and ushers the four further in, towards the adjoined room.

“We’re not injured…” Khadgar says gesturing towards Garona and himself, but the woman only tuts and and shoves them in. This room is less busy, with only a few beds occupied and fewer healers roaming about.

Khadgar is deposited on a bed and a healer starts fussing over the old marks of abuse on his neck. “I’m fine…” he tries again, nudging the intrusive hands away.

“Hold still.” the woman demands, voice stern, and Khadgar sighs and gives up. She wastes no time in removing his cloak and procuring a green paste out of nowhere. He hisses at the coldness when it is applied to the (mostly healed) wounds.

“Alright! Alright!” Karos exclaims from beside him, and starts shedding his armor. “It is but a superficial wound! Relax woman!”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” the healer responds.

Brandon, meanwhile, is having his vambrace cut open to gain full access to his most-likely broken hand. He, too, seems upset with the fussy healer. Garona is nowhere to be seen, having somehow made an escape. Khadgar assumes that she is taken to the women’s ward and is suffering the same treatment as they are.

“Remove your tunic.”

Khadgar’s heart stops. “What.” he says.

“You heard me.” the healer snaps, “Don’t think I’ve not heard the rumors.”

“Um…” Khadgar glances at Brandon, then back at the rather threatening woman standing before him, “What rumors…?”

“Of the jumpy, young mage with the injuries on his back.” the healer tending to Karos says. She spares him a stern, motherly glance, “You’d best listen to her, boy.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary.” Brandon says, then winces as the vambrace is finally cut free from his hand, “They are but rumors.”

The healer seems undeterred. “I shall see for myself.”

“Leave him be!” a voice says from the bed on Khadgar’s left.

“Lord Callan! You are awake!” the healer cries. She stops tugging on Khadgar’s tunic and hurries over to the next bed. “How are you feeling? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“I’ll have water, thanks.” Callan replies.

The healer looks torn between getting Callan water and assaulting Khadgar some more. After a moment, she hurries off, deciding that keeping the queen’s nephew as comfortable as possible is more important that poking a mage that doesn’t want to be poked (who knows what magic he possesses).

“What are you doing here?” Callan asks when she’s gone. “I thought it was just a scouting mission? Are you okay?” he looks to Khadgar, to Brandon, then Karos. “Did something happen?”

“I think we should be asking that question.” Karos replies, as he surveys the recently stitched gash on Callan’s forehead. “Where’s the rest of your garrison?”

The knight in question looks at the nurses, then at Khadgar, unwilling to discuss in the presence of civilians. The nurses suddenly have somewhere else to be and Khadgar pulls out his book from his cloak and says awkwardly. “I’ll just be…” he coughs and tunes them out, though his mind does numbly register the words, ‘Stonewatch’ and ‘orcs’ and ‘ambush…

_ Khadgar can’t feel his wings. _

_ He turns so his back his facing the mirror, then twists his head back to look at what they’d done to it…again. _

_ Twin gashes decorate his shoulderblades. It’s not bleeding anymore; they’d already cauterized it an hour ago. And the pain isn’t as intense anymore, maybe someone had cast a spell to numb it, or maybe his body has gotten used to it. Everyone has a breaking point. Maybe he’d reached his. _

_ It wasn’t enough that they tortured him, so they had grounded him too, not even trying to hide the vicious pleasure on their faces as they… _

_ “You shouldn’t be walking around with that wound.” _

_ Khadgar whips around and there’s a twinge in his back at his sudden movement. He hisses in pain. _

_ The healer tsks irritatedly as she walks over to Khadgar. She turns him around and runs a cool hand over his back. “Look what you’ve done, boy.” she mutters, as she withdraws her hand with red fingertips, “You’ve opened the wound.” _

_ “Sorry.” Khadgar mumbles, barely listening. Because right now, all he could think about was that his wings aren’t there. They’re not there. He can’t fly… _

_ “Come, let’s get that cauterized again.” the healer says, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. _

He jumps when someone touches him on the shoulder.

“Hey, kid…” Brandon says (though he doesn’t look any older), “If I were you, I’d run for it.” Khadgar follows his gaze to see the nurses returning, each with a dangerous gleam in their eye, one directed straight at Khadgar.

With a hasty, ‘thanks’, Khadgar hops off the bed and sprints to the exit, running straight into…

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

“Watch where you’re going, kid!” Lothar snaps as he and Khadgar run into each other rather painfully. He catches the mage by the shoulder and steadies him, glaring all the while. Although the fault was partially his, since he was in such a rush to see his son…speaking of which…

Without another word, he pushes past Khadgar (who speeds away without a second glance; something must have spooked him…probably the aggressive healers), towards the bed his son was laying in. He’s flipping through a book that looks suspiciously like it belongs to Khadgar.

He knows playing mother hen is only going make Callan less appreciative, but he can’t help it. Not when there is a deep gash on Callan’s head, not when he knows that it could have been so much worse. Maybe Taria is right in stationing Callan in the safest places…

“What happened to the rest of your–Callan, are you listening to me?”

No. He wasn’t. His eyes were fixed on something behind Lothar, as Brandon’s voice whispers, “By the Light…”

Lothar turns in time to see Brandon (and behind him, Karos lazily dozing off), quickly hide something white behind his back. “Brandon.” he says.

“Sir…?”

“What was that?”

“Umm…” is all he’s able to say.

Lothar takes a moment to observe Brandon’s wrapped hand and his suspiciously wide-with-panic eyes. Then he looks past him at Karos, whose eyes are closed in what Lothar hopes is a peaceful,  _ harmless _ nap. “What happened?” he asks, “How did you get those injuries?

“Um…an orc kinda attacked us…sir…” Brandon says, as he flexes his hand, “Well…not attack. He disarmed us and talked to Garona…”

So she  _ was _ a spy, after all. “What about?”

Brandon shrugs, eyes on his injured hand as he continues flexing it. “They spoke in another language, sir.”

“And where is she right now?”

“She’s with some healers.” Brandon says, “She said something about seeking audience from the king…” he hops off the bed. “Excuse me…I really need to-” And with that, he’s gone.

Lothar turns his gaze back to Callan, whose eyes are wide as saucers. “What is going on?” he demands.

But all he receives in return is a loud, “OH!” and he too is off, chasing after Brandon.

“What the f-” he stops himself at the sharp look a nearby nurse shoots his way and sighs. If Callan is well enough to run around, then for now, his worry has been abated.

His eyes fall on the book Callan left behind and he notices the beige feather poking out from one of the pages. He flips over to it and catches a piece of parchment just as it falls out.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_ “The cruelty of man knows no bounds, Khadgar. And I’m so sorry that you’re prisoner to the worst of them.” _

Khadgar opens the door with more desperation than he’d like to admit. In his defense, the healers are scary and he’d rather not be caught by another one.

Um…there someone in his chambers.

“What is this?”

“Guardian?”

The man doesn’t reply, but continues staring at the piece of paper in his hand. Khadgar recognizes it as the research he did on Fel from the book he stole ( _ borrowed _ ). Speaking of…

“Uh…” he shuts the door behind him and hurries over to the Guardian, “The gate,” he says, “We saw it in the Morass.” he reaches into his satchel and pulls out his journal, “I’ve been putting together all the clues I can about it…”

“This…” Khadgar looks up at the Guardian’s voice (why does it sound so accusing?), “This drawing; where did you copy it from?”

Oh. Right.

Barely a minute later, Khadgar is staring as all his hard work is burnt into nothing right before his eyes.

“Don’t presume you can help me.” the Guardian mutters darkly, “ You have no idea the forces I contend with…”

What does  _ that _ mean? Is that a threat?

The Guardian takes a step closer and Khadgar reminds himself that the man in front of him is  _ good _ . But he finds himself moving backwards nonetheless.

And then the Guardian takes another step, hand held out and eyes glowing a vivid blue.

“Guardian…?” Khadgar tries, voice coming out a squeak as his heart beats a mile a minute.

This is so wrong.

And then, to Khadgar’s horror, a tingling in his back has his wings being forced out of their sheath, rising up so aggressively that it’s almost painful. The feathers bristle in complaint as they brush the ceiling, but that’s the least of his worries; the main one being the almost-green tint in the Guardian’s eyes and the all-too familiar pain on the shoulder blades that follow.

_ His wings are being cut. _

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that happened.


	13. I know not your sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm extremely sorry about my irregular updates. Here's the next chapter, for all it's worth.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

_ “How did you do that?” _

_ “I-I don’t know. It was instinctual.” _

_ “You…you gave me a feather…” _

White hot…searing though fragile joints…the pain is familiar…oh so familiar…prisoner again…in the dark confines of the tower…

Torture, sadistic grins, cruel eyes glowing blue…chains burning red, amulet unforgiving, closing around his neck…blocking the airway… _ can't breathe…can’t...breathe… _

_ Please stop _ …!

“The next time you meddle in matters that aren’t yours,” the Guardian says, dark voice bringing Khadgar back to reality. “You won’t find me so…forgiving.”

And the pain stops just as suddenly as it had started.

Khadgar stumbles back several steps until his back meets the wall with a painful  _ thud _ . Breathing hard, he slides down to the floor, uncaring of the damage its doing to his back.

The Guardian pauses at the doorway and says, “If you want to help, protect the king. Leave the Fel to me.” then leaves. 

Khadgar barely registers his words. He's suffocating on his own panic, whole body trembling uncontrollably. There's something closing around his neck ( _ fear _ ), there's a familiar tingling in his back ( _ memories _ ), there's a blanket over his brain. Muffling the world around him, removing all logic as Khadgar relives the past… 

_ His vision is growing dark as he fades in and out of consciousness. His back is screaming in agony as blood flows out of the two identical wounds on his back. _

_ His breathing is heavy and uneven as his eyes manage to make out the outline of his detached wings slowly turning into ash…blowing away into the wind… _

_ He hears laughter…dark and cruel… _

“...adgar…?”

“He's having a panic attack!”

“Khadgar, can you hear me?”

_ No… _

“Breathe Khadgar, take deep breaths. Count to ten with me…”

“One…”

_ Two _

“Three…”

_ Four _

“Five…”

_ Six _

“Seven…”

_ Eight _

“Nine…”

“Ten…” Khadgar chokes out, and he finds that the hand rubbing his shoulder is a comfort and part of the reason that breathing is slightly easier now. But then it settles in that the hand is far too close to the healing scars so he shakes it off and attempts to stand up. He stumbles to his feet, trying to shove his way past the two figures he’s yet to make out.

“Whoa there kid, take it easy…” Brandon’s voice breaks through the fog of panic and helps him get his balance when he stumbles.

It takes several minutes for Khadgar to calm down enough to notice who’s in his chambers.

Brandon and Callan.

They both are looking at him with something akin to concern and Khadgar doesn’t know whether he should be happy that they care or worried that they found him like this.

Brandon is the first to speak, “What happened?” he asks, “What was that? Are you okay?”

Khadgar forces himself to gulp down the bile building up in the back of his throat and says, “It was a panic attack. The Gua–” he stops himself, not sure if he should reveal what the Guardian had done. “I–I um…had a flashback…”

Callan’s eyes instantly land on his neck where the magic suppressing amulet had once been while Brandon’s eyes narrow as he gazes at the spot over his shoulder.

“So…how can I help you?” he asks awkwardly, crossing his arms across his chest defensively, but then his breath is caught in his throat as his eyes catch something white clutched in Brandon’s hand. “Is that…” he pauses and glances nervously towards Callan.

“He figured it out.” Brandon tells him.

Khadgar’s heart, that had just started to slow down, picks up speed again.

“Yeah, next time, don’t leave your book lying around.” Callan tells him, then at the panicked look on Khadgar’s face, quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.”

Khadgar stares at him for several seconds, trying to look for signs of deception. This  _ is _ the son of the Commander, after all. The nephew of the Queen.

But all that is forgotten when Brandon holds out the feather –  _ Khadgar’s _ feather – for him to take. He picks it up from Brandon’s open palm, goggling at it with mixed emotions. It’s almost two feet long, but slim and unruffled. White to the point where it looks like its glowing.

“How…?” he manages to whisper.

But he knows how. His own words echo back to him:  _ The wings understand the intention. It will only allow access to its magic if the Atavian whole-heartedly wills it. _

The magic in the feather seems to have been depleted; used up by…

Khadgar’s eyes travel to Brandon’s still wrapped, but no longer injured hand. He can feel his own magic; his wing’s magic still  _ pulsing _ through the veins inside the limb.

He hands the feather back to Brandon. “This is yours.” he tells him, then at the questioning look he receives, he explains, “My intention was to heal you. That is the only reason this feather isn’t ashes right now. Its magic no longer runs in my veins, but in yours. And that makes it yours.”

Brandon nods and curls his fingers delicately around it. “I will take care of it.” he says, voice weirdly thick as he pockets it.

“Is that why the Kirin Tor bound your magic?” Callan asks, eyes on the feather in Brandon’s hand, “Because you wouldn’t give them your feather?”

Again, Khadgar’s own words sound in his head:  _ Torture has no influence to the heart. That is why the land-walkers were unable to possess even a single feather. _

And all it took was for someone to break their hand for his magic to activate.

Khadgar doesn’t realize he’s laughing until Brandon gently touches him on the shoulder, looking both startled and concerned. He must look hysterical to them; laughing even as the tears from before glimmer in his eyes. “Believe me,” he says, when he manages to gain some control over himself, “I would have given them as many feathers as they wanted if I could have. But Atavian magic,  _ my  _ magic, it doesn’t work like that. So no matter how much they tortured me, no matter how many times they de-winged me–”

“What?!” both Callan and Brandon exclaim, both looking horrified.

Khadgar realizes far too late that he probably shouldn’t have said that. “Um…can you pretend I didn’t say that?” he asks awkwardly. Then quickly continues before they can object, “My point is that Atavian magic is all about intention and–”

“Khadgar, that’s illegal!” Callan cuts in.

“I know.”

“They can’t do that! You have to tell my father. Or the king–”

“No, I don’t want anyone else involved.” Khadgar tells him, “Too many people know as it is. And the more people know, the bigger the chances are that… _ they _ will hear of it…”  _ and return for their little project _ …

“But they can do something about it! They can take legal actions against them, or make you a protected citizen of Stormwi–”

“I said no.” Khadgar says, voice so firm that it causes Callan to fall silent. “No one else can know. Especially your father and the king.”

“But–”

“The Kirin Tor are Stormwind’s allies. And with all that’s going on, Stormwind needs all the allies it can get.”

There’s silence as Callan mulls it over.

“I need your word,” Khadgar says, “No matter what happens, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“But my father–”

“Callan, I need your word,  _ please _ .”

There must be desperation laced in his voice because Callan stands a little straighter and offers a firm nod. “You have my word.” he says with only the slightest bit of hesitation.

Khadgar decides he’ll take it. He turns his gaze to Brandon, who puts his hands up in surrender.

“I already gave you my word.” he says, “Your secret is safe.”

“But what about after all this is over?” Callan asks, “Then my father can–”

Khadgar shakes his head, stopping him short. “Afterwards…” he murmurs, “Afterwards, I’ll be gone.”

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure when the next chapter will be up. But know that I won't abandon this fic. Thanks for everyone who's stuck with me this far. You guys are the best!

**Author's Note:**

> Long live Liontrust!!!!!


End file.
